


Curious Case of Penglings

by MissScorp



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 22:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: Oneshot collection. Sherlock Holmes can solve the most difficult cases. However, he’s far from perfect. There’s one word he cannot say. One that John keeps trying to get him to say whenever an opportunity presents itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all and welcome! I don't own anything here but for my general idea and attempt at some lighthearted Sherlock fluff and humor. Credit for this goes to Madam'zelleG who showed me an adorable video of Benedict Cumberbatch talking about his struggles with saying the word "penguin" (Google Benedict and penguin to see what we mean) during filming of a documentary. 
> 
> This is written as a 221B challenge (which is much harder than people think!)
> 
> If you like this story, please kudo or bookmark it!

"Come now, Sherlock," Johh said as he set his cup back on its saucer. "Say it."

A disgruntled sigh came from the figure lounging on the sofa.

"I will not."

"You can't say it." John's lips twitched at the grumbling that greeted that statement. "Admit it."

"I shall do no such thing."

"Then say it."

"Say what?"

"You bloody well know what."

"I need to get some air," Sherlock announced as he shot to his feet. He swished the folds of his robe about him like a cape and swung around to stare out the window. "We're going out tonight."

"Actually, I have plans."

"What?" Sherlock glanced at him. "Did you say you have... _plans_?" At John's nod his brow furrowed. "What sort of plans?"

"I am taking Mary to dinner." He sat back in his chair. "And I am still waiting."

"Hm?"

"For you to say it." John picked up his cup and took a small sip. "So come on now. Say it."

"I shall do no such thing." Sherlock made his way into his bedroom. "Really, John, you should know me so much better."

"I know you better than you think, Sherlock." Watson reached for the newspaper. "That's why I know you can't say penguin. You are just being an arsehole about admitting it."

"Brilliant deduction, John. Absolutely brilliant."

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Say penguin, indeed_ , was Sherlock's thought as he quickly changed from his pajama's into more suitable daytime attire. He was well aware of his inability to say that one _stupid_ word. He rather regrettably inherited that affliction from mummy. Well, that and his fabulous good looks and intellectual brilliancy. He supposed it a fair enough trade.

It wasn't like he inherited Mycroft's sour personality, after all.

Yet, as he shrugged into his suit jacket and straightened the collar of his dress shirt, he contemplated his inability to say that word. _Penguin_ , he thought as he checked his image in the mirror. _See, I can think the word without any problems_. Verbalizing it was what was problematic for him. Well, I will just work on making it less of one. He nicked his scarf from the back of the door and draped it around his neck in a rakish fashion.

"Sherlock?" John called out. "Are you ready?"

"Quite so."

He turned to exit the room but stopped when a perverse urge to say the word overcame him.

"Pengwing," he said rather defiantly.

"Did you say something?"

Sherlock mentally cursed his affliction. "I said I want to dissect a batwing."

"A what?" John questioned. "A bat?"

"Its wing," Sherlock clarified as he exited his room. "I want to dissect and study a batwing."


	3. Chapter 3

Nobody would openly accuse Mycroft Holmes of being a sentimental fool. Yet, that was exactly what he was when it came to his brother, Sherlock. Nothing was ever enough when it came to his brother. Whatever Sherlock wanted, needed or demanded, Mycroft procured for him. The pretense of a fuss was more for Sherlock's benefit than anything else.

The truth was he humoured Sherlock. He was far more indulgent than was prudent.

How could he not spoil him, though?

His brother with the brain of a scientist or philosopher but who chose being a detective, instead. His remarkable brother who stopped men like Jim Moriarty before they could bring the world crashing down around them.

Sherlock hadn't always wanted to be a detective. No, he wanted to be a pirate once. Until their sister, Eurus, petulant about being left out of their game, decided to get back at Sherlock by killing his dog, Redbeard. Sherlock completely rewrote the events of his childhood after that.

The only thing to remain from Sherlock's childhood was his inability to say one word: _penguin_.

Whenever Sherlock tried to say _penguin_ , it always came out sounding like _pengwing_ or _pengling_. Mycroft couldn't help needling Sherlock about his deficiency from time to time. It was rather fun watching anger change his brother's eyes from green to blue.


	4. Chapter 4

Of course, John would decide to pick _this_ case. Why wouldn't he? It was the perfect way to trick him into saying _that_ word. _A penguin exhibit, John? Really_? _How terribly unoriginal. Even for you._

Despite John's blatant manipulation, and the vexation it caused him, he had to admit the case was proving an intriguing one.

_Body froze after being arranged on the bench_ … **use of liquid** **CO2** **?**

_Blueish-white skin_ … **frostbite, possible long-term exposure to cold**.

_Eyes fixed and dilated…_ **death slow and painful.**

_Face contorted in agony_ … **Tortured prior to death**.

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

"Yes, John," he replied as he continued studying the man dressed in – of all things - a penguin suit. "I have heard every word."

"Then what do you make of this?"

"One should always approach a case like this with an absolutely blank mind." He glanced at John, the hint of a smile on his lips. "It can be a useful advantage."

"A man's been murdered," John said, clearly exasperated. "And his body—"

"If one forms no theories, just simply observes and draws inferences from their observations." He retrieved a small box seated next to the victim. He held it up for John to inspect. "The facts will present themselves."

"What is that?"

"This, my dear Watson, is what we call a box."


End file.
